How Estel Got a Nurse
by ScribeofHeroes
Summary: Estel needs a Nurse. Legolas suggests a fellow Silvan. Elrond and Erestor would rather explore other options.
1. Chapter 1

**I did not create Estel/Aragorn, Elrond, Lindir, Erestor, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, Celebrian, Imladris, Rivendell, Greenwood the Great/Mirkwood, or Middle Earth. Tolkien did. The only characters in this story that I created are Mellolaes, her briefly mentioned ancestors, Collas, and Nithrestil.**

**I should also mention that in book canon Estel/Aragorn's mother was there to raise him during his childhood in Rivendell. That is not the case in my Middle Earth canon. So this is an AU.**

**This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.**

**This chapter starts right after Legolas states the idea he mentioned having at the end of my story "Why Estel Got a Nurse." If you haven't read "Why Estel Got a Nurse" yet, I suggest you do so before reading this one.**

**You may have noticed that I rated this T, unlike "Why Estel Got a Nurse" and "Estel Gets a Nurse." This is because while the other stories had no real violence. This one will have blood and be more depressing, because some of it takes place in Mirkwood, which is experiencing an invasion of dark creatures of Sauron. I thought I should let you know.**

**Now you can start reading the actual story. :)**

Legolas glanced from one dark haired elf to another. All three refused to meet his gaze. Finally, Elrond spoke.

"How old did you say this elleth is?"

"She is less than a half-century younger than I," Legolas replied.

Elrond glanced at his twin sons. They shrugged. Both had been considered adults centuries before Legolas was born. However, there were still times Elrond wasn't convinced his twins had "grown up." He looked back to the even younger warrior before him.

"You say her heritage is 'common' elf?"

"Silvan," Legolas corrected. "Her ancestors dwelt in trees, guarding themselves and their homes through their secrecy and courage, long before my father and his left Doriath."

"She has no Noldor blood, no ancestor of Doriath?"

"No, but her great-grandfather is Glingol. He provides the northern wood with honey and wax. His wife, Yavistui, is wise in the ways of fruit trees. Together they provide Green Wood the Great's warriors, my father's household, and the men of Laketown with dried and honey-coated fruit for the winter. Mellolaes' is also a descendent of Maercheredir, a famous Silvan artisan of pottery and basket weaving. He provided the Silvans with the means to store their food for winter long before my ancestors were their kings. His wife, Calnethril is the cloth maker of the Lakeshore. When my grandfather set up the earthen palace he wisely took them and their children into his household. There their skill grew beneath the instruction of those who followed Oropher from Doriath. The daughter of Calnethril apprenticed with the finest weaver of my grandfather's household, Celefnethril. Istuinethril soon surpassed her mother in the art. Istuinethril later wed one of the sons of Glingol and Yavistui. Their daughter is Mellolaes' mother, Merilvaid. Mellolaes has inherited her ancestor's skill and patience in working her tasks to perfection."

"What of the other branch of her family?"

Legolas broke eye contact with the elven Lord, before forcing himself to meet Elrond's gaze again. "Her father is a great warrior. All members of his family are either warriors or healers, which is likely how Mellolaes gained the gift of healing hands herself.

Elrond glanced back to his twins. They shrugged again. The Lord of Imladris straightened in his seat, leaned forward, and pinned Legolas with his stare.

"How_ Silvan _is she?"

Legolas smirked nervously, "You mean is she defiant and reckless?"

Elrond shook his head while making a dismissive gesture with his head. "That is not all that 'Silvan' means."

"We are also asking if she sings and laughs as often as Silvan's are known to," Elrohir broke in helpfully.

"And does she aim her arrows better than she wields a sword when she's not speaking with trees?" Elladan broke in less helpfully.

Elrohir scowled at his twin. Elladan grinned back. Elrond lifted a brow at them both. Legolas rolled his eyes at them all, but turned a straight face back to Elrond.

"Some have called her reckless . . ." Elrond raised an eyebrow, but remained silent as the young elf went on, "and when she thinks differently than her superiors she may do something other than what they have asked." Legolas turned to Elrohir, "And, yes, she does sing and laugh more often than most elves in this valley." Legolas glared at Elladan, "She also speaks with trees. Though she is no warrior, she can draw a bow as well as aim an arrow. Her father has carefully taught all his descendents to defend themselves, and their home with both knife and bow. This last century my father has demanded the same from our entire household. I have never heard of her learning to wield a sword though."

"Then she is thoroughly Silvan," Elrond replied.

Legolas turned back to the Lord of Imladris. "Does being 'thoroughly Silvan' make one untrustworthy of the care of a child in Imladris?"

Elrond sighed and met Legolas' gaze. "No, Thranduilion, it does not. But it is apparent that Estel needs to learn obedience and discipline. Having one raise him, who holds these things lightly in esteem, could undermine his developing these qualities himself."

Legolas' shoulders lowered slightly. It was true. If Estel ever came fully into his own he would need to have court manners a true Silvan could not teach him.

"But, he has you, Erestor, Glorfindel, and us to teach him such things, Adar."

Legolas and Elrond both turned to stare at Elladan. Elrohir spoke next.

"Estel needs another who can play with him."

After a long moment of staring at his sons from beneath furrowed brows, Elrond turned to the other young elf and nodded. "I will keep your suggestion in mind as I make this decision."

The three younger elves left the study to go to the stables, where Legolas could check on his horse.

"How likely is it your adar will actually consider my suggestion?"

"He will when he runs out of other options," Elrohir replied.

. . .

Mellolaes raced through the wood. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her breath could not come fast enough.

_I'm coming! I'm coming! _She cried in her mind, as the scream in Ilúvatar's song drew nearer. She had not the breath to call with her mouth, and it wouldn't help anyway.

She could feel the anxiousness in Nithrestil behind her. Mellolaes had not told her friend why she suddenly raced away, yet Nithrestil didn't call out either. They were drawing near the area it was no longer safe to go. Nithrestil would know why soon.

Mellolaes sensed the guards and scouts scattered throughout the trees above her. They comforted her, but it wouldn't have mattered if they hadn't been there. Nothing mattered but this screaming she felt in the core of her Silvan heart and bones.

Some of the trees and plants were drawing aside for her. Mellolaes was grateful, especially with her skirts hampering her. She vaulted a log and heard cloth tear. She stumbled slightly, before catching herself and going on. The elleth grit her teeth in frustration.

_I knew I should have changed into my archer's outfit. _

Not that she was a true archer like those in the trees, or her brother, or her father. She kept in practice, but her passion was not in the song of hissing arrow and released bowstring. It was in healing. The scream in the song grew louder and closer.

_Almost there, almost there! _Her heart answered.

She rushed into a small clearing and stopped. This would be a good place to meet her patient. She sent out her message in touch, including the touch of her bare feet upon the earth. _Please, please, block her path, close her in, stop her flight!_

The bushes and trees were more reluctant to do this than they were to clear her path. Getting out of the way was one thing. Getting into the way was another. A few did as she asked, but not fast enough.

Mellolaes could feel Nithrestil catching up behind. A strong elf warrior was somewhere overhead, but Mellolaes' own eyes focused on where the bushes were being crashed through. She tensed.

The doe burst from the bushes and trees. Her sides were swelling and lathered. Her eyes were widened in terror. The plants in her way were not holding her. Mellolaes stepped in the deer's path and held up her arms. If the deer simply continued over her . . .

An elven warrior dropped from the trees and wrapped his arms around the doe's neck as he landed, his feet barely touching the ground. The doe reared up on her hind legs, then brought them down with a thump and froze. Mellolaes took a stride backward to avoid the front hooves. Then she rushed forward and wrapped her arms about the neck and heaving chest of the animal as well. The warrior smiled wearily at Mellolaes. _"In need of aid, milady?"_

_"__Yes, thank you, Collas."_

Nithrestil appeared. She began to sing a healing song of Doriath. Mellolaes and Collas joined in the song.

The doe continued to shiver where she stood, but the elf and elleth could feel the terror draining out off her. Collas and Mellolaes loosened their grip, and ran their hands over her flanks. Blood. Long gashes. _Warg bites!_

The doe suddenly collapsed. Mellolaes and Collas knelt down at her side. Nithrestil leapt forward, sat down with crossed legs, lifted the doe's head, and placed it in her lap. She ran her hand over its head and continued to softly sing.

"She must have run for miles," Collas said. Mellolaes nodded. Both Silvans could sense there were no wargs nearby.

Nithrestil broke off from her song. Her voice trembled, though she kept it sweet and smooth. "I don't think we can save her."

Mellolaes pulled some of the Atheleas she had been gathering from her pouch and placed it against the bite marks without replying. A short while later, the doe sighed and went still.

Mellolaes smashed her fist against the earth. Collas cursed all wargs. Nithrestil looked up and met Mellolaes' gaze. "The fawn!"

Mellolaes put her hands and one ear over the stilled side and listened. Yes, the fawn was still alive inside, a few days from being born. Mellolaes became still. The rest of the song, her surroundings, faded from her mind. She concentrated on the sound of the heartbeat, the way it pulsed pushing life throughout the rest of the creature. A picture formed in her mind of where the fawn's heart was, its chest, its head, its body, and finally all four legs and hooves. She knew where it was, and where it wasn't.

Collas was just about to reach out to both comfort and draw Mellolaes away when she drew her knife. Before he could stop her, she stabbed the doe's underside. The cut was far up missing both of the tiny, folded in, back legs within. She drew the blade down. Thank Iluvatar and the king for sharp, elven, healer's blades from Rivendell. Warm blood gushed out over the grass. The moment after Mellolaes realized the blood might not only draw the forest's wolves, but also entice wargs deeper into their realm.

_Oops . . . _

After thinking this, Mellolaes finally felt the fear and frustration of the warrior at her side. She also noted the amazement and nervousness of her friend. The Healer paused for a moment.

_I might as well finish now._

Mellolaes dropped the blade and thrust her arms inside the warm body. Her hands wrapped around the front and back leg. She pulled. The fawn emerged and began to struggle at the sudden change of environment. It was a little doe.

Mellolaes smiled. She had already known, but it was so nice to see with her eyes what she'd felt in the song. She wiped blood and other bodily fluids of birth from the creature. Nithrestil came over to help. Collas grimaced before turning his face away.

"Why great warrior, don't you see blood all the time?" Mellolaes asked.

Collas nodded. "I do, but I don't purposely cover myself in it."

Mellolaes and Nithrestil dried the fawn off together with Collas standing next to them, not watching. Several other warriors had surrounded them in the branches above now.

Mellolaes lifted the new-born in her arms, stood, and strode toward the nearest stream of water. She, Nithrestil, and Collas left the body of the doe for the wolves. All gave backward glances of regret. Some of the warriors in the trees followed them, and others went to reinforce the border, and watch for the wargs that would be drawn to the blood.

At the stream, Nithrestil took the fawn from Mellolaes and finished cleaning it with the water. Mellolaes stepped away to clean herself. In the end she removed both her outer shirt and skirt. Collas' eyes widened at this. He quickly drew back and turned away yet again. The other warriors in the trees joined him in this, except for the few elleth among them.

Nithrestil then handed the fawn back to Mellolaes. The darker elleth also removed her light cloak and put it over her friend's shoulders. The cloak covered Mellolaes' back, and the Fawn covered her front. The under skirt was just barely see-through anyway. The leggings beneath were the same color.

The small creature shivered and nestled into Mellolaes' arms, as content as a hungry fawn could be, but she _was_ hungry. Mellolaes let her lick some water from her fingers, but water was not all the babe needed.

. . .

The three elves approached a thicket of brambles. Curled up within them was a tiny, female fawn three days old. "One of a pair of twins," Nithrestil sighed. "The other was dead before they were born."

"Such things did not used to happen in Green Wood the Great."

Collas and most of the other warriors were growing bitter with their inability to hold back the evil that was spreading through their Kingdom. Nithrestil reached up and touched his arm in shared sorrow. She used to live in the now darkened southern section of their wood.

The elf sighed. Then he turned and held his arms out while keeping his eyes upon the place the older fawn hid. "Give me the babe then."

"Why?" Mellolaes asked stepping back. "Do you even know what to do?"

Collas was startled into looking at her. He placed his hands on his hips and laughed. "I was finding new born fawns before you were born."

"Not for very long before," she answered with a smile.

He opened his own grinning mouth to say something back, but Nithrestil reached up and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Just let her do it, she knows what she wants done."

Collas gave the briefest of doubtful glances at the hem of Mellolaes skirt, but then shrugged and leapt into the tree above. Mellolaes took a deep breath, held the fawn close, and began to struggle toward the other fawn through the brambles. _Cursed skirt!_

She sang as she approached. The other fawn looked up in curiosity, unafraid. She was small, even for only being three days old, as a twin would be. She was just the same size as the fawn Mellolaes held. Mellolaes set her patient down beside the other fawn, carefully watching their meeting. They sniffed each other. Then the new born cuddled against the slightly older creature who let her.

Mellolaes grabbed handfuls of the nearby soil that smelled most of the urine and droppings of this fawn and its mother. This she rubbed them over the orphan, while continuing to sing. Nithrestil went out to find and ready the doe.

The songs of both the Green Wood Silvans and those of Doriath are powerful in their effect upon animals. The doe returned to her own fawn in a motherly and loving mood. She first sniffed the new fawn in suspicion, but she only smelled the scent of her own fawn, herself, and the elves she trusted. At the new fawn's hungry cries the doe's instincts kicked in. She let both fawns nurse. Mellolaes, Nithrestil, and Collas sighed in relief.

Just in case, Mellolaes perched in a nearby tree to continue to watch. Nithrestil went back to the palace to get her friend a change of clothes. When she returned she took over the watch. Mellolaes changed behind a surrounding veil of helpful vines, trees, and brambles. When she came out, fully dressed, she almost ran into a waiting Collas. His merry, green eyes were unusually solemn.

"I'm going to have to inform the King about how you endangered our Kingdom, Mellolaes."

The elleth sighed. "I know. I didn't think, at least I was thinking, but only about saving the life before me."

"Which is why you are a healer and not a warrior," Collas said softly.

Mellolaes looked up into the elf's face with a sly smile. "It seems I've heard of certain warrior's saving one life, against orders, and in a reckless manner."

Collas cleared his throat, while trying to stop a grin from spreading over his face. "We are always punished for that." Mellolaes laid a hand on one of the warrior's crossed arms. He looked down into her smiling face.

"Warriors are not that different from healers," Mellolaes insisted.

A grin spread over the elf's face. He slowly shook his head and chuckled. "No. No, we are not. I will speak and say so to the King. He is more understanding about Silvan recklessness than you would suppose, unless it is one of his family members. Then he is less understanding. Yet, if your recklessness was in saving one of his family, he is more understanding."

"You speak from experience?"

Collas chuckled and shrugged. "Captain Legolas takes after his mother."

**Reviews are greatly appreciated and often responded to. They help me know what I did right, so I can do more of it and what I did wrong, so I can fix it. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**I did not create nor own any of the places or characters created by J. R. R. Tolkien including Arda, Rivendell, Mirkwood/Green Wood the Great, Lord Elrond, King Thranduil, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Estel/Aragorn. I did create Mellolaes, Nithrestil, Beldoron, and Lathwinn. Of course everyone knows Legolas had to have had a mother, but this is my version of her. **

**This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained. :)**

"I fail to see why the idea is a bad one."

Erestor and Elrond glared at Glorfindel. The Balrog Slayer shrugged his broad shoulders. "The Silvans long kept themselves safe through secrecy and skill rather than strong weapons and walls. Though they never directly defied the enemy they slew all his servants who came to them. The monsters never even saw who slew them, yet all who passed through heard their songs. Fair was their land in elder days. They know Arda far better than the Noldor, or even the Sindar. A Silvan could teach Estel things it would be good for a future ranger to learn about beasts, plants, and trees. If she indeed has experience with manlings, and is sensitive to the presence and health of all young things, I don't see why this 'Mellolaes' would not make a fine guardian for Estel."

"You forget your own saying about Silvan warriors making bad soldiers," Erestor growled.

Glorfindel raised his light eyebrows at the darker elf. "We are hiring her as a soldier?"

"A household should be as disciplined as an army," Erestor answered. "Inviting a Silvan here as a servant would unleash chaos in our midst."

"During my last visit Thranduil's household seemed to be in order."

"Perhaps we argue for no reason," Elrond interrupted. Both elves gave him their attention. "Estel was not failed by every member of the household staff. Now that our dwarf guests have left and no other guests except for Legolas are present, or expected for weeks, it would be a suitable time to discreetly see if any among our own servants would be a suitable caretaker for Estel."

Glorfindel and Erestor nodded. And so, the subject of Mellolaes -the Silvan expert on caring for young things- was temporarily dropped.

. . .

After five days of watching over the fawn in its new family and all going well, Mellolaes was called in to see the King. She sighed when Nithrestil gave her the news. Still, the King had been kind to give her this much time with her patient. Thankfully, the extra guards near the doe's body seemed to have deterred wargs and other creatures of the darkness from entering the "safe" area.

Ordinary wolves and scavengers had gotten rid of the remains she'd been told. Mellolaes shivered at that. As both an elf and a healer, she was particularly repulsed by death. She could handle anything while in the process of saving life, but death itself and the living death the enemy gave his dark creatures made her experience chills, nausea, and depression. She put such thoughts from her mind as she made her way to the palace.

. . .

Now thoroughly washed and in her best dress, Mellolaes Merilvaidian curtsied low before her King. Sitting on his throne was Thranduil, ruler of Green Wood the Great, now Mirkwood. Beldoron, the King's second eldest son, stood left of the throne.

Beldoron's face was straight, almost grim. He wore a breastplate and sword belt that had been made for a member of Doriath's royal guard. On the King's right stood his wife, Queen Lathwinn. She was dressed in the garb of a Silvan archer, green and easy to move in, a warrior of speed and secrecy rather than strength. She gazed upon Mellolaes with a gentle smile. Mellolaes had a hard time not smiling back.

The King's own appearance was a mixture of Green Wood the Great and Doriath. His robe was dark green, but he wore a bright breastplate and a sword belt, both like Beldoron's, but more ornate. His crown of living branches though, was extremely Silvan. Flowers were growing from it now since it was early spring.

Mellolaes rose from her curtsy. "You wished to see me, my king?"

"I do. I received troubling news about actions you took five nights ago. Do you know what these actions were?"

"I believe so, my King. I spilled a great deal of a dead beast's blood near the rim of the safe area, which could have drawn our enemies into it."

The King nodded. "By doing such you could have put the lives of our warriors and perhaps others at risk. Why did you do this?"

Mellolaes grimaced. "I wanted to save the life of a single fawn. I didn't think of other possible consequences until I had acted."

Thranduil sighed. He raised his eyes toward the ceiling. Ruling Silvans was not an easy task.

Some might disagree. Rulers such as Elrond, Celeborn, and leaders of men might think it the work of a lazy King to rule a people used to taking care of themselves. The Silvans didn't think to send for aid or take disagreements and problems to their King except in last resort. They even seemed to forget most of the time that they had a King.

The Southern Wood was filling with giant spiders and wargs with a taste for elf flesh. Yet, his own royal guard had been necessary to extract the few non-warriors of his people from their homes as evil advanced upon them. His best diplomats had even had to convince their warrior family members to aid them in getting these stubborn citizens to safety. Otherwise the warriors might have fought the royal guard taking their non-warrior family members away.

Thranduil had also found that if you gave a Silvan an order in a relaxed situation, you could almost be certain it would be followed. Give them an order in a perilous situation, and they frequently did something else. Afterwards, if they lived through their disobedience, they simply said they'd thought their idea was better than yours.

The oddest discovery he'd made ruling over Silvans was how honest and forthright they were. A people famous for their slyness, their secrecy, and their mysteriousness towards outsiders, they did not bother to hide their thoughts from those they trusted, even if these thoughts were rather offensive.

Then there were times like these. A Silvan's full defense for ignoring a command, might be having simply forgotten it, and usually it was the truth. How did you punish forgetfulness?

Thranduil felt a hand upon his shoulder. He looked up. His wife was smiling down in sympathy and, from the light in her eyes, amusement.

He gave a quirk of a corner of his mouth back up at her. Yes, all this and he had married one of them. If he'd been given the choice of wedding any other elleth, he would have still chosen her. If he was given the choice of ruling any other people, he would have still chosen this one.

At times like these though, he would again wish he was still supporting Oropher's rule rather than performing his own. He had especially begun to feel so during this dark time. In fact, he simply missed his father altogether.

Thranduil shook himself from his musings and turned back to the elleth still awaiting his judgment. Thranduil rose from his throne, looked down into the elleth's face and spoke. His deep, orator's voice filled the entire hall of judgment.

"Since none of the great consequences that could have come from your actions occurred, and because you merely forgot you could endanger lives in your zeal to save one, I order you, as your King, to stay within the palace for three days and nights." Thranduil watched the elleth's face fall at her punishment. In a quieter voice, and with another quirk in the corner of his mouth Thranduil added, "Try not to forget."

Mellolaes sighed. This was most certainly not the worst possible consequence of her actions. However, not being able to go outside for extended periods of time was a punishment indeed in a Silvan's opinion and being gently teased by her King, while far better than being an object of his wrath, was still humiliating.

"Thank you for your mercy, my King." She answered.

"You are both welcome and dismissed," Thranduil gently replied.

Mellolaes gave another deep curtsy, mumbled a farewell she didn't remember afterwards, and retreated out of the room in a somewhat dignified fashion.

**Reviews are much appreciated and often responded to. They let me know what I did wrong, so I can fix it, and what I did right, so I can do more of it. :)**

**Gentle readers, I regret to inform you all that I will likely not be able to post another chapter of this story or anything else for over two weeks. There has been a death in my family. Perhaps I'll be able to write and post frequently when I return.**

**God Bless**

**ScribeofHeroes**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm back from my long break. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. I would like to thank my reviewers for all their kind words. :)****  
**

**I did not create nor own any of the places or characters created by J. R. R. Tolkien including Arda, Rivendell, Mirkwood/Green Wood the Great, Lord Elrond, King Thranduil, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Estel/Aragorn. I did create Mellolaes, Nithrestil, Cuilbron, Agargol, Cuilbron, and Lathwinn. Of course Legolas has to have a mother, but this is my version of her. **

**This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained. :)**

A strategy was devised by the elves who loved Estel. The twins would take the manling on a tour of the entire household. Their excuse would be his need to learn more about his home and the elves in it. The household would likely believe the tour had something to do with what happened after the dwarves arrived.

They did. As they conversed about it most of the servants concluded their Lord was reaffirming in the child's mind where he should and should not go and do or should_ not_ do. The servants learned nothing about the search for Estel's future nurse.

The elves in on the plot would observe every servant Estel interacted with. They would note even the slightest glimmer of affection any of them showed toward the child. Most of the servants gave Estel respect for the sake of their lord and the boy's ancestors, but a youth could not be raised on cordial respect alone, especially second-hand respect.

Legolas joined the tour. He considered finding the right caregiver for Estel his concern. The elf was also curious about the search process itself. He found the sneakiness of it amusing. The need for careful observation was also a tempting challenge. Perhaps his suggestion being rejected had also peaked the Thrandulion's interest.

. . .

The tour started in the healing ward. There were no patients in it that day. The healers were busy mixing, measuring, and sealing bottles of medicines as well as cleaning their tools and the ward itself.

Elladan stepped through the doorway. Estel sat upon his shoulders. The boy's head jerked about as his wide eyes locked upon first one object of interest and then another. Elrohir and Legolas stepped up to flank the eldest and youngest Elrondions. Elrohir gestured around the room.

"This is the Healing Ward, honored guests. Here, Lord Elrond and other great elven healers save those struck with every ailment known in Arda."

Estel giggled. He already knew almost everything his brother was telling him, but he was playing the part of an important human visitor. Elrohir was speaking to him as such. Legolas was also playing the part of a diplomat from Mirkwood, one who'd never visited the Hidden Valley before that is.

The twins took Estel closer to each working elf. The boy strained his neck to gaze at everything. Elrond smiled at his youngest son's interest in their work.

His colleagues did not. Atop Elladan's shoulders, most things Estel spied were out of his reach. Even if they weren't, his brothers and Legolas were ready to grip the manling's hand before he could touch something he shouldn't. Still, healers and their assistants glanced from the child to the sharp instruments they were cleaning, the liquids they were boiling, and surfaces they were trying to sanitize. It was well known humans carry diseases within themselves weeks before showing sign of the sickness. They, therefore, could infect their surroundings while seeming well themselves. They might as well start their work over again as soon as the manling left. Estel's tour guide pretended not to know their thoughts or notice their attitudes.

"This is healer Agargol's assistant, Cuilbron. He's sterilizing the bottles healing tonics will be poured into."

"What's stelizing?"

"Ster-i-liz-ing," Cuilbron corrected. "It means purifying something so nothing remains in them that might hurt a patient. "

"Oh."

"You should stay away from anyone while they're sterilizing things with boiling water. Boiling water hurts."

"Okay."

Elladan took Estel away from the boiling water and carried him toward a healer crushing leaves in a wooden dish. Elrohir gestured to her with a smile.

"This is our Lord Elrond's apprentice Caffim. What herb are you crushing Caffim?"

The elleth started and looked up at Elladan with wide eyes. She thought the smell coming from the pulp answered for her. "I'm crushing mint leaves."

"Why?"

Estel leaned forward. His grin was wider than his eyes. He'd been given permission to ask questions and intended to take full advantage of it.

The elleth's eyes darted about, noting her lord, her lord's sons, and the son of Mirkwood's king were all staring at her. She took a calming breath, looked back to her task, and continued to crush the leaves before answering the manling's question.

"The leaves contain oil that is useful in treating some ills."

"What ills?"

The elleth continued not to glance at any of the elves staring at her. "Mostly calming those who are nervous."

Elladan carried Estel toward healer Agargol. The elf was standing in front of rows of bottles and writing something on a scroll. He glanced up at the assembly walking toward him and spoke before the question was asked.

"I'm counting the bottles of medicine."

"Why?"

"To see what we have enough of and what we need."

"Why?"

"So we have what we need."

"Why?"

"Because our patients might need it."

"Why?"  
"Because people get hurt."

"W . . ."

"Let's go see what healer Golweniar is doing over there," Elrohir interrupted.

As Elladan took his little brother over to another corner of the healing ward, Agargol approached Lord Elrond.

"My lord, do you really think it wise to have the manling among us? I know you wish him to learn of us, but he is rather young. Perhaps waiting a few more years to do this would be wise."

Elrond sighed. He had hoped the healer's compassion might coax at least one of his colleagues to show some warmth toward his youngest son. Instead they all seemed to have clenched jaws and tight lips.

"Elladan! Elrohir!" The twins and those they were "guiding" turned toward the elven lord. "Why don't you take our guests to the washing rooms?" All three elves and the manling made faces at that, but they did as lord Elrond had "suggested."

. . .

Mellolaes had served in and around the palace all her life. She was a healer. So why did she feel out of place in the Palace Healing Ward?

As she passed a fellow healer, Mellolaes gave the other elleth a strained grin. She watched her colleague return her gesture with a smile that glowed with the light of those born in Melian's realm. The elleth passed by.

Mellolaes turned sideways as two healers passed by her on both sides. One gave her an apologetic smile. The other continued to frown in thought without meeting her gaze. Neither spoke. Mellolaes walked on.

This room had once been empty more days than not. Occasionally a pallet was occupied by an elf or elleth hurt in an accident or by a spider, warg, or pack of orcs stupidly bold enough to have entered Greenwood the Great. Now half their forest was the territory of such creatures, and nearly every cot occupied at all times. Thranduil had ordered an expansion to the healing ward when the shadow had first begun to stretch over his kingdom. Workers had dug into the earthen wall until the room was seven times as long as it had been before. There was talk of expanding it again.

Some of the patients there were simply fading, after the loss of their home or a loved one. Healers, relatives, and friends stayed nearby singing softly, speaking words of encouragement, coaxing them to stay in Arda. Bowls of hot water and fresh Athelas leaves were kept steaming bedside them at all times.

Most of the patients in the Healing Ward, though, had physical wounds. Eight had been struck by orc arrows. Five had been cut by an orc blade. Still others had an orc or warg bite. Two suffered from warg-claw-scratch. Thirteen had been stung by the giant spiders. One was simply the victim of a training accident. With so many patients you'd have thought the healing staff would be stretched. An assistant had to step behind a full fledged healer to let Mellolaes pass. She sighed.

_I'm about as needed as another blade of grass on a green lawn._

The palace healing staff had quadrupled. Every healer of Greenwood the Great who was not also a warrior now practiced there. The healers would have been tripping over each other if they weren't elves.

Even healers who'd lived and practiced in areas still considered "safe" for now, were called by the king to give their places to warrior-healers, usually those who'd been pushed from their homes. Some had done so more willingly than others. Many thought it an honor to serve in the palace. Several preferred watching over patients on the mend to patching them up and sending them back into battle or on to the palace healing ward. A few had come there muttering about the King having the audacity to command them to report to the palace and turn their places over to another. Most felt compassion for the healer who'd taken their place knowing they'd had more taken from them.

Mellolaes was surrounded by healers with more power and experience, many from Doriath, a few with Noldor blood, and most with more experience in treating battle wounds than her. Some had even traveled with King Oropher to the battle of the ring.

She felt like a sapling among ancient trees here. Along with all this, even though she could treat wounds, push back the darkness the enemy's soldiers infected their warriors with, and encourage the fading, none of these things were her greatest "gift." None of these things was her expertise.

She arrived at the cot she'd been called to. The healer who'd requested her aid turned to Mellolaes. Like her, he was pure Silvan. He'd also treated injuries on the field of battle before the ring was cut from Souron's hand. Due to his experience he'd been given authority to take charge of patients cut by blades and struck by arrows, poisoned or not. Mellolaes better understood why he'd chosen to summon her when she saw who else was assisting him.

A tall and slim elleth with hair as black as ink and warm, brown eyes stood near the patient's head. She was stroking the warrior's hair out of his face. She paused to smile at Mellolaes.

Mellolaes gave Nithrestil a smile before looking to their patient. He was breathing deeply and hadn't responded in any way to Mellolaes' approach or Nithrestil's touch. He'd been dosed into a deep sleep. That meant only one thing, surgery. Mellolaes turned her attention to the head healer.

"I am here to serve."

He nodded. "This patient had a poisoned arrow strike him in the side. The arrow was removed days ago, but the poison has continued to trouble him. We tried simply drawing the poison and cleansing the wound. Now I will make an incision to better allow us to do both and stop this dark infection for certain."

"What will I do?"

"Cleanse the exposed area as the poison leaves it."

Mellolaes blinked. She glanced at Nithrestil. Her friend flashed her an apologetic expression. Of course she'd been chosen to sing and stroke away the patient's pain, whatever pain he felt so deeply drugged. She had Doriath blood. Mellolaes herself always admitted she was not famous for her surgical skills, but this? Any apprentice could be charged with this task.

She swallowed the question and tried to dampen the burning inside through force of will. She picked up the bowl and a cloth from the nearby table. The surgeon's own assistant stood by, obviously to hand her bowls of clean water and clean clothes as she had need. Mellolaes acknowledged him with a glance and turned to the surgeon.

"I am ready."

. . .

Mellolaes dragged the metal covering aside. Then she tossed the black and red soaked cloths into the fire-pit. Silvans barely used fire for warmth or cooking. In fact they had tried to convince their Sindar and Noldor kin it was unnecessary. However, none of them had argued with it being the best way to be rid of the enemy's filth after they'd witnessed corpses reeking of evil turned to harmless ash. Merely bloodied bandages and cloths could be cleaned, but those soiled by the black filth that spread from a wound infected by the enemy's poisons . . . Mellolaes slammed the metal covering back over the fire and sat on it.

The warmth shouldn't have comforted her. She was silvan. She should not need the warmth of fire.

She shivered at the memory of the chill of the dead elf's skin and his friend's tears. No wound, no wound at all, he'd simply followed his son into the Halls of Waiting. She had been the third healer to check his vitals.

The King had decreed three healers had to check the body of a faded patient, to make absolutely certain no life remained in them. She had. She was sure. How she wished otherwise.

She rose and stomped on the fire pit's cover. A satisfying, metallic ring rent the air, but it wasn't satisfying enough. She opened her mouth and screamed.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Curse spiders that stung, and wargs that bit and scratched, and goblin archers, and orcs spears, and poison! Curse it all!

"Mellolaes?"

She turned. Nithrestil was gazing at her with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Mellolaes wiped a hot tear off her warm cheek. Then she took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, mellon nin. Am I needed?"

Nithrestil didn't reply. She just crossed the room, wrapped her arms around her friend, and let the Silvan elleth sob into her shoulder.

. . .

"There are more than enough healers there already, my husband. Asking a Silvan to face the toils of the Healing Ward now without being able to go outside to strengthen their souls is cruelty."

Mirkwood's King looked away from his wife's gaze. "I should have realized that myself. Tell her I am sorry, and that she is given leave from her duties there both during and for a month or so after her punishment."

Lathwinn's brown eyes softened. "I will." She reached out and laid a hand on his cheek. Thranduil turned to meet her gaze again. The elleth's words sounded like warm honey to him.

"You are doing well, my love. If you should have remembered, I doubly should have thought to remind you."

King and queen embraced each other, drawing strength from one another to face the many crises still before them.

**Reviews are much appreciated and often responded to. They tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it, and what I did right so I can do more of it. :)****  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**I did not create nor own any of the places or characters created by J. R. R. Tolkien including Arda, Rivendell, Mirkwood/Green Wood the Great, Lord Elrond, King Thranduil, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Estel/Aragorn. I did create Mellolaes, Nithrestil, and Collas. ****J**

**This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained. :)**

**Side note to SaphiralovesTolkien. Love the name change and new profile pic, sweetheart. I'm Sorry I left you and the others hanging so long. Please try not to be too frustrated with Elrond. If he hired Mellolaes immediately, there would be no story. You are right that the elves of the household will be nice and polite towards Estel, because he's their lord's adopted son. Elrond knows this, but he also knows his twins and Legolas are good enough observers to notice if any of the elves in their household have actually let themselves care about Estel. You and others who've read "Estel Gets a Nurse" know who ends up getting the job, but this story is about all how it came to pass. In the meantime, you can feel superior towards Lord Elrond about knowing something he doesn't. ****;)**

The group of three elves and one manling entered the laundry room. The head of every servant snapped around to stare at them. There gazes were drawn to Estel atop Elladan's shoulders. Bolts of panic appeared in every pair of eyes, but a moment later they disappeared into smiles joined by slight bows and curtsies. Then the servants turned back to their work. Elrohir sighed and gestured toward the hands of the elves and elleth scrubbing linens and pieces of clothing against washboards.

"This is the laundry room, it is directly off of the Healing Wing so bloodied and otherwise soiled linens from there can be immediately cleaned." Elrohir paused, trying to recall if there was anything else interesting to say about the place. He'd never led a tour through it before.

"Sometimes sheets, bandages, and Healing Ward sleeping-shirts are rinsed in water with a splash of Athelas extract added to give extra comfort to patients. Other pleasant scents are used in the washing of all the laundry here, both that of us who live here and that of our guests."

Elladan raised his eyebrows. _Well done brother. You almost made it sound interesting._

Elrohir was so used to hearing Elladan's voice in his head he didn't even turn to face him as he replied. _I'd like to hear you say something even more interesting about it, brother._

Elladan grinned. _Not a chance. _He looked up at the manling on his shoulders. "Is there anything here you'd like to get a closer look at, Estel?"

"No."

The servants looked more relieved than disappointed, particularly the ones working with boiling water.

"You know," Legolas interrupted. "I'm feeling a little hungry. Does this tour ever go through the household kitchens?"

Estel's head and hand shot up. "I want to go to the kitchen!"

Elladan flinched, but his grin didn't disappear. Elrohir arched an eyebrow at the manling. "Is that the proper way to ask, Estel?"

The boy took a deep breath. "Can we please go to the kitchen next, Elhir! I mean tour guide."

Elrohir smiled and began walking toward a door. "Right this way."

. . .

Mellolaes had decided doing laundry indoors was dismal. Like most Silvans, she normally did hers outdoors. There, in the opinion of most of her people, everything was more fun.

Silvans wore greens and browns, so stains were not usually an issue for them. Even blood stains turn brown when they dry. A smudge of brown on green or green on brown aided the overall camouflage effect so important to Green Elves. Therefore, for them doing laundry usually consisted of collecting a few bucketfuls of river or rain water, pouring them into a washbasin, intense scrubbing of cloth against a washboard, hanging the soaked garments on a line to dry, and dumping the water along the trunk of a nearby tree, which did the tree good. Not a terribly pleasant chore, but not a depressing one either, usually.

Right now though, Mellolaes was in a closed in room with a tub of hot water, a washing board, and alternating basketfuls of dirty laundry from the general palace populace and bloody bandages from the healing ward. There was also no way she was going outside to dump it over the roots of a grateful tree not even when the water had cooled enough to not harm plant-life. Adding to the general, overly-warm atmosphere and claustrophobia were the two dozen other elves and elleth doing the same thing. They were so close Mellolaes felt water droplets hitting her from every direction as they inadvertently sprayed her.

She said nothing. She was doing the same to them. Nithrestil peeked in. She spied the flushed red face, dropping head, and glazed eyes of her friend, and went to speak with someone of high position.

. . .

"And here is the household kitchen!"

Every servant in the room turned in despair. The small hope they'd had of being left out of Estel's tour died. They didn't try to hide their feelings as much as the other servants had. The sons of their lord and Mirkwood's King would surely understand considering there last encounter with the manling.

Estel either did not notice or did not care. He was straining his little spine as straight as it could stretch. Instead of widening his eyes though, he was widening his nostrils with long, deep breaths.

The head cook bowed. All the other elves and elleth in the kitchen followed his example. When he'd straightened, the elf addressed the visitors.

"Is there anything I can do for you Elrondions and Thrandulion?"

"Elladan and I," Elrohir answered, "are conducting a tour. We have dropped by your excellent abode to show it off to our honored guests."

Estel giggled. The other two elves in the tour smiled. The head cook bowed again.

"My staff and I were wondering if, after a brief walk through and explanation of our facilities, the members of your tour would enjoy taking some provisions outdoors in order to better enjoy the day with a picnic."

Elrohir looked toward the other members of their entourage. Legolas they did not need to ask. He never passed up an opportunity to be outdoors. Elladan nodded at him, so that only left their youngest brother. Estel was already waving his arms up and down, and shouting.

"Yes! Picnic!"

Elrohir turned and nodded toward the head cook. "That sounds like an excellent plan."

The servants dashed about gathering the basket, bottles of juice and sparkling cold water, rolls, clay dishes of butter and a few different varieties of jam, a basket of fresh greens, and containers of salad ingredients. Elrohir went through pointing out various things in the kitchen and explaining them. Estel tried to pay attention, but kept glancing toward the basket being filled. Soon the tour moved out through the door to the garden and the kitchen staff gave a long, deep collective sigh of relief.

. . .

Ahhhhhh . . . this was better. Mellolaes threw two handfuls of rinsed greens into each of the bowls lining the length of the table twenty paces long. Behind her was a row of other elleths following behind to add a handful or so of whatever they were carrying into the same bowls.

_This, _Mellolaes contemplated, _was another of the businesses of life and healing. _Feeding others had always been one of her favorite activities. When she got to the end of the table she strode back to the opposite end, picked two finished bowls up, and carried them out to the dining room. There she sat and was joined by Nithrestil and Collas.

"How goes the punishment?" The elven warrior asked with a grin.

"Better now, thanks to a friend," Mellolaes grinned at Nithrestil. Nithrestil smiled back and gave her friend's hand a squeeze under the table.

Collas nodded and took another bite of the salad. "If this is the salad we get when you are in the kitchen, we will have to get you in trouble more often. Ow!"

Mellolaes removed the tips of her pointing finger and thumb from Collas' wrist. Nithrestil giggled. Collas glanced at the area of pinched skin, noted there was no blood, and gave both elleth a mock scowl before digging back into his salad.

The mid-day meal could not last forever. Neither can doing dishes and general clean up, particularly when the palace's kitchen staff was as flushed as its healing ward and laundry staff. So, Mellolaes found herself going to the household steward for another task.

. . .

"So, the search goes that poorly?"

Elrond poured himself a glass of wine. He and Erestor had joined the picnic of the tour members'. Legolas had taken Estel off to stare at plants and insects leaving the twins free to discuss the current results of their plan with their father and the household steward.

"I'm afraid so Adar," Elrohir replied.

"The servants are terrified of him," Elladan added.

"I believe they are more terrified of what you'd do to them if they failed with him."

Erestor snorted. Elrond merely sighed as he stared into the contents of his wine glass and swirled them.

"Continue the tour for now. Erestor and I will be contemplating other measures we can take if it fails to provide the results we desire."

"If it's any consolation, Estel seems to be having fun."

"Adda! Adda! Leglas and I found the biggest slug ever! Come see!"

As Elrond left the picnic area and his wine glass to go "see," Erestor continued the conversation with the twins.

"Where is the tour headed next?"

"The gardens."

"Do not let Estel take the slug with him."

**Reviews are much appreciated and often responded to. They tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it, and what I did right so I can do more of it. ****J**


	5. Chapter 5

**I did not create nor own any of the places or characters created by J. R. R. Tolkien including Arda, Rivendell, Mirkwood/Green Wood the Great, Lord Elrond, King Thranduil, Glorfindel, Erestor, and Estel/Aragorn. I did create Mellolaes, Nithrestil, and Galasmaed. :)****  
**

**This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained. :)**

Galasmaed looked up and bit back a groan. It had to happen sometime that day. Headed in his direction was the small human that had gotten him lectured by his sister-in-law, the famous minstrel, and his lord.

The manling sat grinning atop the shoulders of one of Lord Elrond's twins. King Thranduil's youngest son walked beside them. Elrond's other twin led the way while giving an ongoing explanation of their surroundings.

"And this is the house's kitchen garden and the gardener in charge of it, Galasmaed Hithuiladion."

The guide swept his arm out towards him. Galasmaed gave a slight bow at the waist.

"Greetings Elrondions, Thrandulion."

"Greetings Galasmaed, can you tell us of this place?"  
"Certainly, this is one of the many gardens of Rivendell. Several are purely for beauty. Others are for growing healing herbs. Still others are made up of plant specimens from far places. This one, however, is for the growing of food. Today I am looking over the newly planted seedlings to see that all is well with them."

"Is the one I ate okay?"

Galasmaed met the manling's questioning gaze and forced a smile.

"It seems to be recovering nicely."

Elrohir and Galasmaed continued to give a complete tour. They pointed out every different kind of plant and told Estel which foods came from them. Elladan lowered his little brother toward the ground so the manling could run his fingers over the plants' leaves and stems. Legolas asked Estel if he could feel the difference between the slick and furry leaves, and smooth and rough stems. The manling nodded smiling at his friend.

"This one is furry like a kitten! And this one is smooth like your skin! And this is a twig, not a stem!"

The elves laughed, though Galasmaed's sounded more like a forced chuckle. Shortly after that the manling snapped off the stem of a bean plant in his excitement. The younger elves noted that Galasmaed winced. Estel stared at the loose stem in his hand with a wince as well and bit his lower lip.

"Oops." He lifted his head to look up at the gardener standing over him.

"I'm sorry Galasmaed."

"It is a small matter Elrondion. The plant will survive without it and grow a new stem to take its place."

The like went on as Estel's brothers and friends gave him a walkthrough of the other gardens. The elves in charge of each plot and path gazed upon the manling with polite smiles and watchful gazes when he approached their beloved plants. So, Elrohir, his twin, and Legolas never ceased watching the manling either except to glance at one another with despairing eyes. No, it did not seem that a nurse of plants would become the nurse of Estel.

. . .

Mellolaes ran her fingers along the tunnel roof. The roots of grass, violets, and trees were woven throughout the earth just above her. Some were perennials that had survived the winter to put out fresh shoots for yet another spring. Others were seedlings bright, new, and vulnerable.

She let her hand drop to her side as she approached another fellow servant. She needed to find something else to do with herself inside the palace before she disobeyed her king. She also had to stop encouraging the call of the forest above her.

. . .

Touring the gardens took the rest of the day. As evening drew closer the twins had Estel wash his hands and arms. Legolas thought this unnecessary. Then all three took the manling to the terrace. There they, Elrond, and Erestor ate the evening meal together.

Estel chattered about everywhere they had been, what he had learned, and proudly proclaimed what he had already known. The elves cast each other amused smiles over the table. Then it was . . . bath time.

"I don't need one, ada!"

"Estel, you must take a bath," Elrond insisted. He was holding his youngest son tightly against one of his worse-for-the-wear robes. He'd forced himself to eat the evening meal in it so he could go straight from the table to the manling's tub. He sighed as Estel continued.

"I'll go swimming instead! Elhir and Eldan can dunk my in the horsey trough!"

"Do not fuss so youngling," Erestor responded from behind. "You cannot dirty the sheets of your bed with all the leaves, and dirt, and whatever else might have gotten tangled in your hair."

At the mention of tangled hair, Estel lifted his head and howled at the ceiling. Elrond turned to give his steward a disbelieving stare. Erestor gave an uncharacteristically apologetic look back.

The rest of the elves in the household and a few scattered over the valley heard the manling's cry. They shook their heads, thanked their maker and the Valar none of their elflings had ever made such noise over taking a bath, and went back to their work. They'd all heard it nearly every evening since the manling's arrival.

. . .

Mellolaes sighed as she lowered herself into the steaming water filling the tub. She sank in until her chin rested lightly on the water's surface. There the elleth gloomily pondered how unnecessary the bath was.

She'd washed thoroughly and changed after her brief stint in the healing ward. Washing clothes had been dealing with hot water and a few flakes of soap. The work in the kitchen had been light. The rest of the day she'd spent wandering around looking for tasks. After the noon meal, every assignment she'd heard of had been taken. So, she'd finally returned to her room to thoroughly clean it. She'd been trying to save that for her last day indoors, but now she wondered if she would become desperate enough to attempt it every day.

Mellolaes hummed her mother's song to herself as she washed her hair. Then stopped when she realized how inappropriate it was. She had not been outside to bring anything in with her. All she'd brought to this tub was the dust of indoors.

Still bored and reluctant to leave, Mellolaes scrunched her legs up so the knees emerged from the water and submerged the upper half of her body. Then she practiced holding her breath and blowing out air bubbles. Even when the water cooled she remained. It felt more like stream, river, and lake water that way anyway.

. . .

Elrond wrote the request himself. In fact, he was determined to write every draft and copy. He hoped this would cause the recipients to read them more respectfully and to more carefully consider their message.

The tour would continue tomorrow. Not every elf in his immediate household had been examined in Estel's presence, but he should be prepared for nothing to come of it. If tomorrow's search proved as fruitless as today's had been, these missives would be ready to be dispersed throughout the valley the morning after. He placed the tip of the pen to the surface of the paper and allowed the ink to become his thoughts.

_Lord Elrond Eärendilion to the elves of Imladris with the fondest of his greetings, _

_I have found myself in need of the services of a nurse for my adopted son, Estel Elrondion. He is mortal and, therefore, fragile. He needs the most tender of care and vigilant of watching. Training on how to so care for him will be provided by myself, my steward, and my captain of the guard, Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer. _

"That ought to convince them of the importance and honor of the task," the elven lord mused to himself. He lifted his pen and dipped the tip into a mithril inkwell (a gift from a dwarven king many centuries ago.) Then he went back to writing and attempted to capitalize on the reader's caught attention.

_All living expenses for the nurse will be paid for by myself. The caretaker will eat at my table and have a room of their own across from Estel's. They will be paid twice the salary of a soldier of Imladris. This sum will be paid out on the first day of every month or held to accumulate for twelve months and then paid out the first day of every year according to their preference. Along with all this, the nurse will have the undying gratitude of the house of Elrond even after the reshaping of the world. However, this task should not be taken up lightly. If harm befalls Estel in their keeping due to their negligence or, far worse, their actual malice, they shall be hunted by the members of the house of Elrond until we are all dead or the world is remade. I sincerely doubt any member of my realm is capable of such negligence and malice. Instead, I anticipate this offer being well received and my son soon receiving the finest and most loving of care from one of my own subjects._

_Sincerely and hopefully_

_Your ever faithful Lord Elrond Eärendilion of Imladris_

. . .

Mellolaes had returned from the evening meal, went to her room, found her writing instruments, spread them over her desk, and tried to think of something to fill every parchment she had. She only began to be truly careful of using her words sparingly when she realized she was running out of ink. She sighed, sat up, and chewed the end of her feather pen in thought before crouching back down and scratching out the end of her letter.

_I think I know how you felt now, Malthendui, cut off from where you truly wanted to be. I hope I helped you as much as you and others say I did. I knew you were afraid though I didn't know why. _

_You were younger than me, and I knew I should make those younger than me feel safe and happy. Besides, the King and Queen had said we must be kind and polite to all the visitors. I was just doing what they said to do. I was well rewarded in gaining a friend like you. _

_I definitely feel safe myself. I know none will attack me here either with weapons, words, or cruel deeds. However, I do feel smushed as if I have been buried beneath the earth like a body. However, Nithrestil stays by my side and makes sure I don't go mad._

Mellolaes paused to dip the tip of her feather pen into the last of her ink. She sighed again and continued.

_I need to stop now. Tomorrow I will ask the Queen if there is any way at all to get this letter to you. Perhaps that will take up a little time. At dawn tomorrow I will have only two days left of this punishment. Then I will be free again to go where I please._

_Sincerely and with much love_

_Your friend_

_Mellolaes Merilvaidian_

**Reviews are much appreciated and often responded to. They tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it, and what I did right so I can do more of it. :)****  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**I did not create nor own any of the places or characters created by J. R. R. Tolkien including Arda, Imladris, Rivendell, Mirkwood/Green Wood the Great, King Thranduil, Legolas,** **Lord Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, Elladan, Elrohir, or Estel/Aragorn. I did create Mellolaes, Nithrestil, and Queen Lathwinn. Legolas must have had a mother of course, but Lathwinn is my version of her. **

**This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained. :)**

**After a writing conference, an illness, and the demise of my personal laptop; I now post this over 4,00 word update with the hope my beloved readers will find it worth waiting for. Special thanks to the guest who left the review that reminded me I needed to get back to work on this. **

"What are we doing today, Eldan?"

"Stop wiggling, Estel."

Elrohir chuckled. Elladan paused in clothing the manling to glare at his twin who refused to meet his gaze and answered their brother's question with a smile.

"Ada says this rain will continue into the evening. So, we will be staying inside today. But fear not little brother. Our father's house has dozens of rooms each filled with a thousand interesting things."

Elladan cocked an eyebrow at his twin over Estel's shoulder. _Exaggerating a bit aren't we?_

_I'd be more worried about it if Estel could count to a thousand._

Elladan shook his head as he pulled the manling's arm through a jacket sleeve. "And when we get bored of those thousands of interesting things, brother mine, there is one more place worth making a dash through the rain to see."

The boy began to question his brothers at to what that place might be. Legolas sighed as he listened. He glanced out the window. The Silvan liked the place well enough, but it was still a building.

_The worst place about Imladris_ _is how often it rains here, and the fact you might run into dwarves . _

. . .

"Is there any way you can grant this request, my queen?"

"I believe so, Mellolaes. We are not allowed inside, but some are always watching the borders. A messenger may be met by a sentinel who can see your letter is delivered to your friend."

Mellolaes smiled. She held the envelope out to her queen. Lathwinn grinned back while taking it from the servant's fingers.

Both elleth walked away in thought. Lathwinn pondered whom she could entrust with the delivery of the letter. Mellolaes was grateful that what she thought a difficulty had turned out to be so easy. Yet, she was disappointed for the same reason. Now she had to find another activity to fill her time.

. . .

_Are you sure we should even bother with this?_

_It's not a tour if we don't. _

_So Legolas gets to hear almost the exact same speech he did centuries ago, Estel gets to hear it for the first time when he'll forget it by the end of the summer, and we spend nearly an hour assuring others this tour for our frequent houseguest and little brother is legitimate?_

Elrohir turned a glare upon Elladan as the group paused before a doorway that was suddenly filled by another elf. The newcomer bowed, but his eyes never left the manling atop Eladdan's shoulders.

"At you service Elrondions, Thrandulion, do you still wish me to give you the usual tour?"

Elrohir ignored his brother's begging stare and nodded. "Yes, Lindir, give us the full tour.

. . .

Nithrestil rushed up behind her best friend.

"Mellolaes, Mellolaes! Come quick! The King has taken pity on you!"

The Silvan spun around. Her hand was grabbed by the other elleth who dragged her down the hall. Mellolaes blinked at the back of her friend's dark head.

"I can go outside?"

"No, but wait till you see what we can do."

The Silvan sighed, but raced along at Nithrestil's side.

. . .

The manling gaped. Light poured in through a window a pony could leap through. The ceiling stretched up so he couldn't brush it with his fingertips even if he was sitting on Glorfindel's shoulders. If emptied, two horses could be ridden neck and neck down the hall. None of these things impressed Estel. The room's contents did.

The collection left just enough room for two elves to walk side by side down the middle of the hallway and reach, remove, or play each item as they chose. The walls could barely be seen through all that was mounted and hanging upon them. Lindir waved an arm at it all.

"Welcome Elrondions and guest to the 'Aisle of Instruments.'"

Flutes, pipes and lyres shone from their shelves. Some were polished wood, others silver or gold. A few were mithril. Most were longer than Estel's arm, but others were small enough for him to play.

Two rows of harps that would loom over a standing Estel were on either side of the strolling group. Designs were etched into all but two of these great instruments. Fourteen were precious metal. Gems were incrusted into five of them. All had strings as taunt as those of a warrior's bow. These whispered to the manling. His fingers twitched.

Imladris' greatest minstrel led the way. The twins walked beside each other. Elrohir carried Estel on his shoulders. Legolas trailed behind and noted the occasional Silvan piece in the collection. None of the other elves were truly listening to the musician's dialogue.

"And this was the harp of Elwing herself before her flight to Eärendil's ship. Pearls of the western sea are inlaid into its silver pillar and neck."

Estel grinned and reached down towards its strings. "Can I play it?"

Lindir turned his head to hide a cringe.

"Perhaps at the end of the tour you can play a different harp."

Elrohir forced his eyes not to roll. The minstrel gestured toward an item hanging on the north wall. "This is a flute rescued from Gondolin."

Estel bounced on his perch. "That was Glorfindel's city!"  
Lindir nodded. "Yes, it was."

Estel pointed at the flute. "Did anyone kill a Balrog with it?"

"I think it would have been damaged if they had."

The other three elves smothered chuckles. At the end of the hall, they insisted Estel be allowed to play a harp. Lindir set the least valuable lap harp in the room before the hopping manling. Estel plopped down on a tiny stool, raised his hands, and plucked the strings too hard. The minstrel winced. Even the younger elves made faces above the manling's head. Estel bit his lip and made a second, more successful attempt. He played the only tune he knew. Lindir bobbed his head.

"Very good, Estel. That sounded well. I believe we have completed this portion of your tour."

Elrohir lifted Estel back onto his shoulders. The minstrel returned the harp to its place. At his brothers' promptings, Estel thanked the musician for sharing his knowledge with them. Lindir gave the proper reply and saw them to the doorway out of the hall. The younger elves exchanged glances once they were out of their elder's sight. The strained relationship between manling and elven minstrel appeared unchanged.

. . .

Nithrestil pulled Mellolaes along behind her until they reached The Hall of Music. The place was empty. The Sindirin turned to her friend.

"The King set it aside for us Mellolaes, for the whole day if we choose."

Mellolaes gave her a half grin. Only refugees of Doriath and their decedents frequented the hall. Their heavier instruments decorated the chamber along with a large fireplace, indoor fountain, and floor-to-ceiling tapestries. It was said only blizzards, thunderstorms, and dark armies could chase Green Elves indoors with their flutes, pipes, and lyres. King issued punishments now went on the list as well.

As soon as they entered the room, Nithrestil released her friend's hand and raced to her own harp. It was formed from gold of Erebor and modeled after those of Doriath. She sat down at the instrument and looked to her friend.

"I'll play and you can dance to your heart's content."

Mellolaes grinned. "Thank you my friend."

"For what? I love to play."

Nitherestil raised her hands toward the strings. Mellolaes shook her head. The other elleth's fingers brushed the strings. Mellolaes stretched upward on her toes. The music began. The Silvan leapt, ran, and twirled the dances of the songs her friend played. Then her movements became slower and less powerful. Finally, she stopped. Nithrestil's hands fell to her lap.

"What's wrong?"

Mellolaes' head bowed. Her cheeks burned red. "My feet miss grass, flowers, and tree roots thrilling to their rhythm."

"Why don't you play with me instead then?"

Mellolaes looked up with a half smile. "Give me a moment to go to my room."

Nithrestil rose and rushed to a tapestry. "No need." She swept a bottom corner aside and revealed a lyre, flute, and set of reed-pipes* resting against the wall behind them. Mellolaes laughed.

"You darling, is it possible for you not to think of everything?"

The Silvan hugged her friend. Then she bent down and grabbed her reed-pipes. Nithrestil went back to her harp. Mellolaes began. The other elleth joined her.

All the songs started with high, quick notes that fluttered like bird wings and laughed like water over stones. Then the Silvan's turned slow as a sluggish river and low as the moaning wind. Mellolaes growled at herself inwardly. She refused to look into Nithrestil black eyes. The Silvan moved from instrument to instrument. First she played her pipes, then her lap harp, and finally her flute.

Her friend had been bold enough to make a request of the King. Something those of Doriath blood did not find so easy. The King had been kind enough to grant her request. What was she doing to show her appreciation? Every time she changed instruments she tried harder to pluck and blow cheer into them. But all the songs of the Green Wood were of streams, trees, birds, stars, and fields. Pangs of missing them turned her songs to sorrow.

Of course, putting her feelings into music was cathartic, but Mellolaes was not the type to revel in sadness. She lowered her flute into her lap and sighed. Nithrestil gave her a sad smile of encouragement. Her friend's mouth curled into a half grin.

"I'm sorry Nethristil. I'm glad you did this, truly. It's helped. But making music out of my discontent will pull me deeper into despair. I might as well find a task to occupy myself with instead. Likely, I will not be able to, but looking for one is something to do."

Nithrestil nodded. "I'll come with you."

. . .

The twins carried Estel up and down every hall. Along their way they met maids and butlers with dusters and buckets. At the twins' encouragement, these servants let the manling "help."

Estel swung a duster like a sword, scattering dust over areas already wiped bare. With apologetic smiles the twins pried the duster out of their brother's hands and carried him to a servant scrubbing the floor.

Estel sat on his bottom scrubbing the tile before him with the cloth and both hands. The twins and their Silvan friend stood back beaming at him. Then the manling clutched the edge of the bucket to pull himself up and dunk the cloth back into it. His brothers and friend pounced, but too late. The bucket overturned and soaked floor and boy. With another apologetic grin, brothers and friend carried Estel back to his room.

Legolas changed the manling into a dry outfit while the twins watched with identical grins. At lunch Elladan and Elrohir filled their father in on the day's events in the High Tongue while Legolas conversed with the manling in Sindirin. Elrond agreed to forgo further introducing Estel to menial tasks.

"Take him to the library next. Introduce him to the scribes, read a few stories to him, and perhaps the rain will let up for you to take him to the last location of the tour."

. . .

Mellolaes and Nithrestil prowled the halls and pounced on every servant they came across. Some took pity on the imprisoned elleth. These handed her dust rags and brooms to go over shining furniture and floors with wide grins, and the words, "Our palace can never be too clean."

Mellolaes accepted each task with grit teeth. None of the jobs took longer than an hour. Then she was prowling the tunnels again.

Nithrestil left her side. Standing idle nearby made how superfluous her friend's toil was clearer. The darker haired elleth promised herself to find Mellolaes a worthy task if she had to travel to Lake-town and drag it back to The Palace.

. . .

After lunch, Estel was taken to the library. Elrohir gestured toward two elves and one elleth sitting at desks and leaning over parchments.

"These are the scribes of Imlardis, honored guests. They copy the records and stories of disintegrating scrolls onto new, or translate those in the High Tongue into Sindirin and Westron."

The scribes paused, looked up at the group, smiled, and then looked back to their work. Estel stared down at them. "What are you writing?"

"I am translating this account into Westron."

"I am rewriting the records of the Northern Kings onto new parchment."

"I am making copies of a document for Lord Elrond to send throughout the valley."

The twins grimaced. Every scribe had answered Estel without looking up from their work. The Manling, however, beamed down at them.

"I can write all my letters now."

The elleth looked up at him with a smile. "Congratulations Elrondian."

The elf sitting next to her nodded. "Excellent work indeed."

The last scribe's eyes left the page to meet the manling's with a corner of his mouth quirked up. "You may be able to read this scroll when I am done with it." He looked back to his work.

Elladan glanced at his twin. _Doesn't it take them twenty years to finish a scroll?_

_Closer to thirty for an epic._

Estel pointed to something on the only empty desk. "What's that?"

Elladan smiled, picked the object up and held it up to the manling on the palm of his hand. "A crystal ink bottle."

Estel snatched it from his brother's hand. He turned the cut, glass container in his small hands. It slipped from them. At the soft gasp from the small mortal and the softer "thump" on the thick carpet, the heads of the scribes shot up. Three pairs of eyes stared.

Elladan picked the container up. "No harm done. It didn't even open."

Three sighs of relief echoed before the same number of heads turned back to bend over an equal quantity of scrolls. Elrond's eldest son placed the bottle back on Erestor's desk. Then he turned to look up at the manling. "Would you like Elrohir to read you a story, Estel?" The manling grinned.

. . .

"All three copies?!"

The librarian met Mellolaes' gaze without a twitch of emotion flitting over his face. "Yes, and as soon as two copies are free, I have been given permission to give one to a scribe so we can have four copies for the years to come."

The elleth lowered both elbows onto his desk and covered her face with her hands. The Sindirin elf raised an eyebrow. Then he cleared his throat.

"Indeed in my centuries of running this library I've never seen so many Silvan's reading. I used to try to get scrolls and books into your people's hands. Now my greatest challenge is keeping them from taking my charges outdoors with them."

Mellolaes' hands left her forehead and slapped down onto the wooden surface of the desk.

"Do not speak to me of the outdoors!"

The librarian raised both eyebrows at her. His lips tightened in disapproval. Mellolaes' arms fell to her sides, her shoulders slumped, and her head bowed.

"Forgive me sir. That was disrespectful."

"Well, I suppose fits of temper are only to be expected to result from your punishment."

Mellolaes' jaw tightened. The Librarian went on.

"Why don't you start listing your favorite stories and I will stop you when you reach one I have a free copy of?"

Mellolaes sighed. "The voyage of Eärendil?"

The Librarian remained silent.

"The creation of the sun and moon?"

The librarian gave a slight shake of his head.

"The creation of the stars?"

Another slight head shake.

"Fingon's rescue of Maedhros?"

Now a small spark of pity lit in the librarian's eyes. Mellolaes spun around and stomped her foot.

"OOOOOOOOOOOHHH!"

The Librarian straightened in his chair and cleared his throat.

"A scribe wrote out the 'The Hunt of Lathwinn and Thranduil' recently."

"I'll take that."

Less than an hour into the familiar story Mellolaes felt a touch on her shoulder. She looked up into laughing dark eyes. Her face folded into a pout.

"Nithrestil, I just found something to occupy myself with."

"So did I, but I want your help. Come on, I promise you'll enjoy it more than a story we've heard a hundred times."

Eyes focused on the grinning eyes of her friend Mellolaes rose, laid aside the book, and followed her friend from the room.

. . .

"And the colt learned to obey his mother."

Elrohir closed the book and looked up at the faces of his clapping little brother and indulgently smiling twin and friend.

"So Estel, do you want to go to bed now?"

"Go to bed?" Estel's jaw dropped and eyes went wide. Above his head Elladan was biting his lip and trying not to shake. Instead of letting his eyes glimmer back into his twin's Elrohir drew his brows together.

"Well the tour's over isn't it?"

"But what about the place outside?"

"Place outside?"

"Elhir!"

"Ohhhhhh . . ." Elrohir smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Of course, and here I picked the story so I wouldn't forget."

Estel's eyes went from narrowed in annoyance to wide with curiosity.

"You did?"

"Yes, can you guess now?"

Estel lowered his chin into his hands with a scowl of thought. Legolas laughed, plucked the manling out of his brother's lap, and sat him upon his own shoulders. "Come mellon nin, I'll take you. We'll leave these two torturers behind."

The Silvan then dashed out the door with his friend banging it shut behind them. All the scribes started, raised their heads, and glared at the closed entryway. Thankfully, only one had had pen point to page at the bang. He took a cloth, dipped it into a glass of water, and wiped the stray mark with it until it disappeared. Meanwhile the twins looked at each other, laughed, and followed the Silvan and their brother out at a walk shutting the door gently behind them.

Legolas raced out of the house and toward a two-story building seven times as long as it was wide. Estel leaned over and pointed at it.

"Horsies!"

. . .

"Well met, little one . . ."

The foal looked up, blinked, and snuffled at her. His breath, warm as it was, chilled her blood-wet palm, but she just smiled at the sensation. The mother horse was turning toward them both with her great, wide, brown eyes. She sniffed and neighed a greeting to her newborn.

A smile spread over Mellolaes' face. Thank goodness the palace's stables were connected to the rest of the underground palace. The presence of a healer hadn't really been necessary, but she felt more needed than she had all day. The elleth picked up the clean rags beside her.

"Let's see what color you are."

Mellolaes began to rub the creature where his mother hadn't licked her yet. Nithrestil watched them both with lights in her eyes. The life had come back into those of her friend.

. . .

Estel grinned over the sunlight colored head. Legolas glanced up at him with a chuckle. He walked through the open barn doors and stood there. The barn hands and steeds turned their heads toward the elf and manling silhouetted in the doorway. Legolas' grip tightened slightly on the manling's legs.

The steeds were in their stalls, but when beasts were powerful and skittish it was best to keep younglings close, especially if they were as fragile as those of men.

The stable elves gave polite greetings to Estel, Legolas, and the twins. The latter got glances of "what are you thinking bringing the manling here?" One tall elf, though, walked up to the group with laughing eyes. He nodded to them, "Elrondions, Thrandulion, welcome to the stables of Rivendell.

The twins and Legolas nodded, Elrohir's smiled. "Rochellon, you are keeping them as fine as ever. Elrohir looked up toward his brother upon his friend's shoulders. "Estel, this is Rochellon. He's the head of the stables."

The manling waved.

"Hi"

The stable master met the manling's gaze and grinned.

"Well met, little one. Would you like me to introduce you to the horses of your father's stable?"

Estel nodded with a grin. Rochellon turned and strode to the door of the first stall. Sticking over the half-door was a great white head perched on upon a thick, arched neck from which fell a long mane of cloud-like hair. Rochellon reached out toward the stallion. The horse jerked his head away from the outstretched palm and snorted disdainfully. The stable elf chuckled.

"This is mountain peak. He can be as distant and cold as the place he is named for. His ancestor was Gil-galad's mount. Glorfindel often rides him on long journeys."

Rochellon walked on. Legolas took a few steps aside and toward the center of the aisle and away from the stalls before following. They came to a bright chestnut mare.

"This is Hot Coal, Elladan rides her upon mountain trails." The mare straightened her neck and sniffed at Estel. Legolas stepped back, keeping her nose out of the manling's reach. Rochellon gave him a glance and almost unnoticeable nod of approval. "Stay away from her teeth. She is curious, but she likes to explore things with her mouth."

Estel blinked. "Huh?"

"She bites."

Rochellon stepped up to the next stall where a tall, gray gelding stood. Rochellon reached out and patted the steed, which acted as if no one was there.

"This is boulder. He is strong and steady as his namesake."

Legolas let Estel reach out and pat the horse. The manling drew back his hand with a scowl of disappointment as the gelding lowered his head toward the feed trough. Rochellon half-grinned. "He can also be as unresponsive as a stone."

Estel patted a few horses who seemed to notice. These he wanted to stay with until Rochellon's description of the others tempted him to go on. The stable master recited the names of all the beasts, and sometimes their dams and sires, as well as any notable deeds they or their ancestors had been a part of, and who usually rode them for what purposes. Even Legolas found himself interested in what was said. They came across grooms and stable hands at work. Rochellon introduced their "guests" to them as they met them.

Finally, they came to the end of the building.

"And that ends the tour," Elrohir said. Estel straightened with a frown.

"Already?"

The stable master smiled. "Well there is still one thing left in the barn I have yet to show you." The other three elves raised their brows at him. Estel leaned over Legolas' head. Rochellon reached toward the manling.

"Would you like to see some kittens, Estel?"

Estel grinned and reached back toward the elf.

Wide eyes of the other three elves watched Rochellon carry the manling up to the hayloft. They followed up the ladder one rung behind the older elf. There they and he made a barricade of themselves surrounding the youngest manling in a loose semicircle as he knelt in front of a knot of five, warm, soft, mewing bodies. Estel got so excited when he held one he squeezed slightly too hard. The elves gently reprimanded and showed him how to hold the kittens without squeezing. He loved sweeping the tips of his finger over their soft fur. Estel spent the rest of the day in the stables until dinner, after which he was forced to take his bath and went to bed.

"Elhir?"

"Yes, Estel, which room had thousands of interesting things in it?"

Elrohir bit his lip. His twin smirked at him over the manling's bed. Elrohir cleared his throat.

"The 'Aisle of Instruments.'"

Estel's brows furrowed. "I thought Lindir said there were only three-hundred fifty- uhhhh . . ."

"Seven, little brother," Eladdan supplied. Elrohir glared at his twin.

. . .

Mellolaes lay on her back in the straw of the hayloft above the mare and her foal. The elleth was stroking another animal lying on her stomach. The tabby purred. Her own swelled sides covered the elleth's narrow waist. She would have kittens in a few weeks. Mellolaes continued to stroke the cat's side. She counted the other heartbeats she could feel beneath the fur and skin. The elleth sighed as she drifted off to sleep. Today hadn't been so bad. Tomorrow was the last day of her punishment. Then she would be free to go where she pleased.

. . .

That night, in Imladris, three younger elves reported back to their three elders. The sleeping Estel himself would be spared the depressing discussion. All the elves involved simply endured it.

"None showed a glimmer of fondness for him, ada, except the stable master. Unlike the stable hands, Rochellon didn't seem worried Estel would frighten the horses and ponies. He even led us up to the hayloft to show out brother the newborn kittens."

Erestor turned to his lord.

"Rochellon cannot leave his current position to look after Estel. Forcing him to leave off caring for the steeds to care for Estel alone would sour him toward our manling, even if we ourselves could afford to leave the stables in the hands of another."

Elrond nodded. "You are correct, Erestor. We cannot ask Roccoellon to give up being the head of the stables to be Estel's nurse. The trial has been a failure."

"Perhaps not completely," Glorfindel added. "We now know Estel might bond with a caregiver he has a similar interest with, perhaps animals again."

Legolas shared a grin with the Balrog slayer. They turned their smiling faces to the lord and steward. Both glared back at the lighter haired elves.

Elrond messaged his forehead.

"I am forced to admit the search for a proper care-giver for Estel in our own household has been fruitless. Are we all agreed on this?" The other elves nodded. The elven lord nodded back. "Henceforth," we will conduct the search outside our household, first throughout the rest of the valley and then outside our realm."

"In Mirkwood?" Glorfindel questioned. Legolas stood straighter. Elrond glared at his captain.

"Not yet. After exhausting the valley, we will first look to his own people and the elves of Loth Lorien."

Erestor's brows furrowed. "The elves of Lorien I understand, they must all know the truth about our manling, but his own people do not."

"No, but there are many manlings among them who have been orphaned, far too many. It will not be too difficult for them to believe I took one in and now wish a nurse from his own people to care for him. Even if the caregiver does realize the truth, it will only make him or her more willing to care for him until he is old and strong enough to be known by his first and his father's name."

*This is a reference to "Pan Pipes." Since "Pan" is a reference to a pagan god of Ancient Greece that name for the instrument didn't make sense in Middle Earth. The instrument is often made from reeds, so I thought it made sense they would be in Mirkwood. I, therefore, gave them the name "Reed-pipes" to both reference the materials and the fact there are many parts of one instrument, the same way we talk about "Scissors."

**Reviews are appreciated and often responded to. They let me know what I did right, so I can do more and what I did wrong, so I can fix. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**I did not create nor own any of the places or characters created by J. R. R. Tolkien including Arda, Imladris, Rivendell, Mirkwood/Green Wood the Great, King Thranduil, Legolas, Lord Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, Elladan, Elrohir, or Estel/Aragorn. I did create Mellolaes, Beldoron, Celebdir, Rhovamil and Queen Lathwinn. Legolas must have had a mother of course, but Lathwinn is my version of her. **

**This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained. :)**

Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir were mounted on the finest war steeds in the valley and wearing ancient battle armor that gleamed brighter than the moon. Amusement shone in their eyes as they grinned down at their lord. He was scowling back up at them in a casual (for him) robe and pair of slippers with his circlet of mithril resting on his head.

"Do not treat this as a lark. If you do not take your task seriously, neither will those you seek out."

Glorfindel's grin faded to a polite smile. He bowed his head.

"Yes, my lord."

The twins continued to grin.

"Yes, Adar."

Elrond closed his eyes and unclenched his jaw.

"Remember to answer any questions they ask you politely and . . . truthfully, but also with a certain amount of . . ."

"Diplomacy?"

"With a well-timed shrug and as few details as possible."

Elrond met his sons' gazes and nodded. "Yes, use all you have learned of diplomacy in this matter."

Glorfindel's smile became a grin again. "I am certain they will perform well on this quest, my lord. They are your sons."

Elrond gazed at the identical, grinning faces before him. His own mouth was set in a firm line.

"I'm sure."

Three elves came forward. They handed standards of Elrond's household up to the riders. Elrond watched the warriors get the poles into the correct hold and lift the banners towards the sky. The elven lord cleared his throat. The three warriors looked back to him. On his face was a grin scarier than most of his scowls.

"Also know, my trusted warriors, that if I learn you have in any way sabotaged this endeavor, I shall make things most unpleasant for you."

The twins glanced at each other. Glorfindel's smile wavered.

"I assure you, my lord, we will do no such thing."

Elrond nodded. "You may go on your way."

The warriors turned their steeds. The stallions cantered down onto the main rode of Imladris. When the road diverged into three forks each elf urged their steed onto a different path. The missives in the message bags they carried rustled with the rhythm of their mounts' hoof beats. If they delivered these envelopes with enough dignity and pomp, perhaps the recipients would realize the true honor their lord's request was.

. . .

The grey charger sped through the thick air and thicker shadows lying over the forest kingdom's only road. The gold hair of the elf riding the steed streamed out behind him. The brightness that clung to him refused to be swallowed by the darkness covering all else in this area. Even the path a length before his mount was briefly lit before they passed.

Spiders hissed, wargs growled, and orcs muttered to themselves in the distance. But none attempted to cut him off. For one thing, he was on the safe path. No creature of darkness could step upon it. Nor would the elf stray from it. He had learned its course by heart. He was older than it.

Secondly, the white spear he carried was leveled to point straight ahead. He wore the armor and sword of the Mirkwood's Captain of the guard. Orepher had worn it while serving the King of Doriath. Thranduil had worn it while serving Orepher, King of Green Wood the Great. Now Thranduil was King, and Beldoron wore the suit.

He'd left the guarding of his father's palace to an elf who'd served Thingol with Orephor and helped train Thranduil and his sons. The King had agreed to it. Beldoron had received an errand from the queen.

. . .

"Mellolaes!"

The elleth turned and curtsied.

"My Queen."

Lathwinn laughed. "I am still not used to that. I have found one willing to carry your letter for you. He is on his way."

Mellolaes beamed. "Oh thank you, my queen."

Lathwinn grinned back and tucked a lock of hair behind the other elleth's ear. "You are more than welcome Mellolaes. The favor was small enough for one who is family to us."

Mellolaes blushed.

. . .

Lord Elrond's need of a nurse to care for his adopted manling was made known throughout Imladris. The twins and Glorfindel handed out the missives. They also answered questions of the elves and elleth who received them. Most queries were about Estel's howls before and during baths, and if it was true that manlings fell down and hurt themselves when they walked or ran.

Glorfindel and the twins were careful in their answers. The mere fact these were the questions made the recipients reluctance clear. No lights came into their eyes or smiled flashed over their faces as they read. They went into their homes and came out with their answers sealed into white envelopes. They handed these to the riders. Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir took their replies with a nod and smile, before riding off to the next house.

. . .

Beldoron pulled up his mount on the outskirts of the Golden Wood. His eyes gazed hungrily into the trees. They were not dark. A smell of health and joy emanated from them. Music echoed through them.

Memories of visits past washed over Beldoron. He closed his eyes to relive a few moments he had known in this place. They snapped back open as a voice came up from somewhere below him and before his mount.

"Greetings Beldoron Thrandulion, many years have passed since we walked in Loth Lorien together."

Beldoron looked down into a pair of silver eyes. He swallowed his jealousy, and smiled. "Hail Celebdir, I've a message for one blessed enough to dwell in Loth Lorien."

The sentry started. Then he grinned. "When my watch is up, I will see it is delivered."

Beldoron returned his grin. He handed the letter to the other elf whose hair was nearly white. Then the Thrandulion turned his mount to go. The other elf sighed.

"Ah, in happier days I could have invited you in for a day or a year of rest before you went on your way."

Beldoron looked back with a sad half-smile. He shook his head. "And I would have accepted, but I cannot tarry for a year, or even a day now."

The other elf nodded. Beldoron finished turning his steed toward the mass of dark trees in the distance. He leaned forward, and his horse cantered toward them.

. . .

"When are my brothers and Glorfindel coming back?"

Legolas looked up from the clay troll he was holding. He and Estel had been on the manling's bedroom floor playing with the child's wooden and clay toys. The child had been using both hands to maneuver the matching figurines of two dark haired elves atop war steeds holding matching spears. The troll Legolas played with had no chance. Every half-minute or so, the manling let go of one of them to pick up a elf figurine of pale wood with strands of golden silk for hair, holding a dull sword of smooth, polished stone. Legolas grinned at the boy.

"They will all be back this evening, Estel."

The manling looked up at him from beneath furrowed brows. His bottom lip was beginning to stick out in a pout. Legolas's grin widened as he lowered his voice.

"Imagine how livid they shall be when they learn what fun we had without them."

Estel's head snapped up. His eyes widened as they met the elf's.

"What fun, Las?"

The Silvan stood to his feet. He stepped back towards the door while gesturing the manling forward with his hand. Estel shot to his feet and followed Legolas out of his room and down the hall. The elf had turned to face forward and taken the boy's hand in his own. The elf's jerky movements made it seem as if he was striding towards his goal, but the length of his steps kept him by the manling's side. As they walked down the spiral stairway, Legolas glanced down at his friend.

"Do you remember the candy I bring you?"

Estel's eyes widened still more. A grin lit his face. He began to hop down the hall steps.

"Uh-huh! Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh."

"Would you like to learn how to make it?"

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

As soon as the youngling reached the bottom step he leapt off and raced down the hall leading to the kitchen. Legolas kept up with a laugh. Both reached the kitchen at the same time.

An elf and an elleth stood before a table with the first batch of strawberries floating in a vat of chill, spring water. They were rinsing and sorting the fruits into three different bowls. Legolas walked up to them and gave a slight bow.

"May we have some of those?"

Both servants nodded. The elleth pointed towards the dish in front of her.

"These are those to be eaten within the day. You may have some now."

Legolas lifted Estel up to help him pick out which berries they wanted. The pair took a dozen of the biggest strawberries with them to another table. The other servant got them a jar of honey, wax-paper, two forks, and a dish. Legolas poured a few dollops of the honey into the dish and showed Estel how to spear the berries on the forks, hold them over the dish to drip, and place them on the wax paper. After half of the berries had been coated, Legolas turned to the manling and winked.

"Now, Estel, since we do not have the special Silvan coating for our candies, they will not be easily stored. I am afraid we have to eat them right away."

The manling grinned evilly up at the elf. Then he snatched the biggest fruit off the paper and popped it into his mouth.

. . .

Mellolaes sang to herself as she cut a length from the reed of the exact thickness, and sturdiness required. She continued the song while plucking one of the wild strawberries from the basket next to her, and stabbing the reed through the fruit. She gazed at it for a moment.

The strawberry was so bright red it would dazzle a mortal's eyes. It was almost a shame, but needed to be done. The end result would be beautiful in its own way. Besides, Mellolaes could tell from the look and smell that, like the others in the basket, this strawberry was not quite sweet enough for a Silvan's raw-eating standards.

She dipped the fruit into the clay jar before her. The elleth had reached the chorus of the song. Mellolaes lifted the fruit into the air again.

Golden drops of honey fell back into the jar. Her smooth, quick motion matching the note she sang, Mellolaes dipped her work into a second jar of clear glaze. Every Silvan elf knew the recipe for this last ingredient, and none shared it with any elf not born among trees.

The elleth then placed the reed into the holder with the other thirty she had finished. The holes were just big enough for the reed to slide through. A little lump of clay stuck beneath the hole, and molded around the reed, held it perfectly in place. The honey and glaze coated fruit was held safely aloft to air dry.

Mellolaes continued to sing and work. She paused only when she sensed another walking in her direction. The elleth prayed they would walk by the storage room she'd taken refuge in. When they did, she turned back to her task. Then a group stopped outside the door. A knock echoed from the wood. Mellolaes grimaced and sighed.

"Enter!"

An elf with brown hair and grey eyes swung the door open. Mellolaes turned to greet him with a smile. It only fell a little when two elleth stepped up behind him. Both had bright green eyes and hair with highlights the color of the fruit beside her. The elf spoke first.

"Mellolaes, these elleth would like to be of assistance with making the strawberry-centered honey-drops."

The elleth on his left stepped forward.

"We are both from the south strawberry meadow."

Mellolaes repressed another sigh. She grinned at both elleth.

"Come and help me then!" She scooted over on the earthen floor. The elleth happily sat down on either side of her and began to work. Within an hour Mellolaes learned the two were good friends who had known each other since the year the younger was born. They had come to the palace at the "request" of the King. The penetration of spiders into the woods surrounding the south strawberry meadow had become too frequent.

Their voices grew wistful as they spoke of the home they had left behind and of the birds who once feasted on the fruit that grew there. They winged creatures had fled the southern wood before the elleth had. The meadow was now empty and silent.

Mellolaes' throat grew tight as she listened.

"Are you going to help with the establishing of strawberry plants in the nearby field?"

Both elleth looked up with grins.

"Oh yes."

They were soon chattering about what should and should not be done when the seedlings were planted. Mellolaes listened carefully. Her aid in the project had been requested as well.

When the conversation turned back to reminiscing between the old friends, Mellolaes slipped away. The other elleth were too lost in the past to notice. Even that distracted their work was like polished stones amid the gravel that was her own. They were more practiced in the art than she.

Mellolaes sprinted through the palace's earthen halls. Elves who saw her called after her, asking if she was busy with a task they could aide her in. She stopped to answer them with a smile that did not reach her eyes.

"I am in a hurry, but I need to do my next task alone." Then she turned and continued her dash.

_I need to get out to where I can breathe, _she shouted in the confines of her own mind. But she only fled to her room.

After slamming the door shut behind her, Mellolaes took out a tapestry she worked on in the winter. Like all tapestries Silvans toil over in winter, it was an outdoor scene of springtime. She sang a different song to herself as she worked.

After a few hours a knock sounded at her door. Mellolaes looked up with a smile. She recognized the knock and presence of the person on the other side of the door.

"Come in!"

The door slammed open. A golden-haired elleth in warrior's garb leapt onto Mellolaes' bed. Then she threw her arms around the servant.

"Nurse! You poor, poor thing! Sewing scenes on a tapestry in springtime!"

Mellolaes let go of both the needle and cloth to wrap her arms around the elleth half her age. Even with this age gap the elleth had been considered "and adult" for two hundred years. Still, Rhovamil often behaved like the elfling Mellolaes had supervised when her royal family members had been indisposed, or incompetent, in the case of her Rhovamil's brothers. They had tried, but had had no idea how treat a little sister. Mellolaes smiled as some memories that came to mind.

"Sweet elfling, have you just returned from guarding the path?"

Rhovamil pulled back. Her face was scrunched into what she meant to be a scowl, but resembled more of a pout. "I am not an elfling anymore, Mellolaes!"

The older elleth smiled sadly at her.

"I know, Rhovamil, but you'll always be an elfling to me." The younger elleth rolled her eyes with a wide grin. Then she collapsed backwards onto the mattress.

"I tried to convince Ada that nearly three days in this crowded place was worth three full days in it as it used to be, but he said he'd already taken that in to account when he punished you. Otherwise, it would have been seven days."

Mellolaes shivered. "Thank you for trying, my sweet."

"Can I do anything?" Rhovamil peered up with sorrowful eyes at her old nurse. Mellolaes grinned and went back to her needlework.

"Tell me of your watch on the path."

After several heartbeats of silence, she looked up at the warrior. Rhovamil was staring at the tapestry tracing a figure her nurse had sewn into it. The younger elleth's usual grin was not there. Mellolaes softened her voice.

"It is as bad as that then?"

Rhovamil shrugged.

"I didn't get to shoot anything. The silence was worse than battle, except that we all came back unscathed I guess."

Mellolaes rolled her eyes. Rhovamil would always rather be "scathed" than bored. The younger elleth flung her hands into the air.

"But it isn't better! If anything the woods are worse! They're dark, and all the trees are afraid, and you can feel things creeping just out of range and watching and smelling and listening to you, but not actually attacking or coming close enough for you to attack them! We kept some travelers safe in return for sharp knives and gold we can use to purchase more weaponry and supplies, but . . ."

"But it doesn't feel like enough." Mellolaes finished for her.

The warrior nodded. A tear that had formed in her right eye slid down her face. Mellolaes put down her needle, thread, and tapestry. She wrapped an arm around the younger elleth and drew the warrior to her side. Rhovamil began to cry into her shoulder.

"We're losing our wood, nurse! We're losing it to those cursed monsters! We're going to have to die or move away! I'll hate living anywhere else! I can't even kill who's taking our home from us!"

Mellolaes rubbed the young elleth's back. Her voice was the low calm of despair.

"You'll get to kill something soon enough."

The older elleth drew away. The younger elleth sniffed and wiped her nose. Mellolaes gave her old charge a half smile.

"Want to help your old nurse with her weapons training?"

Rhovamil gave a weak smile and nodded. In a few moments they both held wooden training blades in their hands. The warrior was barking instruction to the slower and more awkwardly moving elleth.

"Hold your right blade higher! Don't leave such a gap between them! Faster!"

Mellolaes was somewhat distracted by the change in her old charge. Rhovamil was stabbing and blocking in smooth, accurate movements. She knew exactly what and what not to do. Not even a ghost of either her cheeky grin, or childish pout was on her face now.

This was not Mellolaes' little elfling. This was Rhovamil Lathwinnian of the Pathway Guard well on her way to becoming a captain by her fourth century of life, if she survived that long in these darkening days. Mellolaes didn't know what she would do if Rhovamil was brought back as a breathless corpse, or simply disappeared into the growing shadow. She turned her mind from the possibility and concentrated more on following the warrior's instructions.

. . .

"Get him Dan!"

Elladan lifted his weapons and blocked another attack. Legolas grinned at him. Then he followed up the stab with a complicated set of movements.

Elrond had sent his jesting natured son to those most likely to deny their lord's request. The eldest twin had also had the least households to visit. He had returned hours before sunset.

Not being in the least winded from his leisurely ride, Elladan had assented to Estel's request he spar with their visitor. Being the guest, Legolas had had the choice of weapons. The Silvan had unmercifully chosen knives.

They were using wooden blades just in case. Elladan's mouth was set in a hard line. Legolas wore an evil smirk. The smack of wood on wood echoed over the training yard. Estel sat a few steps outside the boundary line cheering for his brother and sipping water from his favorite clay mug.

A shriek broke the rhythm of resounding knocks. Legolas turned his head toward the manling. Elladan grinned and jabbed his wooden blade's tip into the other's elf's gut.

Legolas breath left him with an "oof." Then he scowled at his opponent. What a dirty trick, having the youngling distract him like that. Elladan smirked back at his friend, thrust the training knives into their sheath, and looked to his brother.

"What is wrong, Estel?"

Legolas turned his head also. He expected to see a like smirk on the manling's face. His eyes widened. The child was scowling into the contents of his glass.

"He's in my water again!"

Both elves raised their eyebrows.

"Who is in your water?"

The manling lifted his head. The bottom lip stuck out in a pout. The grey eyes had almost disappeared beneath heavy, dark brows.

"The bug! I've picked him out ten times! Ten! It's my water! Tell him he can't swim in my water, Dan!"

Legolas blinked. Among Silvans, and the elves of their kingdom, carrying glasses outside was a rare occurrence. If you did, getting a bug in its contents a dozen times or more was a forgone conclusion. They removed the bug, put it in a place the insect could dry off, and took another sip.

Elladan frowned. He hoped the bug in question was not a fly. Insects that crawled over rotting meat and piles of dung should not come into contact with what members of the "Sickly race" put in their mouths.

He strode up to the manling, knelt down, and peered into the glass. Then he smiled. A large grasshopper was treading water in the cup.

The elf took the container from his brother's hands and poured the water out onto the grass. The insect hopped away as soon as the water level allowed it to. Elladan scooped the manling up to his right shoulder and began to carry him toward the house.

"Let's go get you a fresh glass then."

Legolas stared at their retreating forms. Elladan turned back to smirk at his friend. Then he looked back to the house. The Silvan crossed his arms. He resolved not to go so easy on the older Elrondion when they returned.

. . .

"Beldoron"

The elf smiled up at his mother peeking down from a tree branch.

"The message has been delivered, nanneth. I left it with Celebdir. He will make sure it reaches Malthendui's hands."

Lathwinn grinned at her son. "Tell the kitchen servants they are to give you a dozen honey-covered strawberries."

Beldoron laughed. "Can I give you a ride home or are you on watch?"

Lathwinn shook her head. "I am indeed watching the border now. I must stay until the dawn."

"Is my sister at home then?"

"Yes, and you must go now or she will have eaten your share of the honey-covered strawberries. When you arrive, tell her to give her nurse the good news."

. . .

Elrond leaned back in his chair gazing at an opened letter with his chin resting in his hand and the tip of his index finger pressed into his temple. Erestor stood behind his right shoulder reading over it. The door opened. Elrohir strode in.

"Here are the last of the replies, Adar." He slapped the stack of envelopes down upon the desk. His father answered him without looking up.

"Did any you spoke to give indications of hope?"

Elrohir stared into the stack of folded white paper as if by doing so hard enough he could change the truth. Elrond laid his own slip of folded paper down and reached for the top envelope in the stack the younger elf had brought.

"That is a, 'no' then. Be not angry Elrohir. I know these replies are not due to any lack on your part."

Elrohir sighed. The tenseness melted from his frame and face.

"Thank you, Adar."

Erestor strode around the desk. "I'll start the first draft of our request to Loth Lorien." Before the elf reached the door it swung open to reveal their houseguest.

"How fared the survey throughout the Hidden Valley?"

All three dark haired elves glared at him. The light haired elf's smirk became a sympathetic grin.

"Not at all well then?"

Erestor stepped by him, closing the door and leaving the Silvan in the room with Elrond and his son. The Lord of Imladris locked narrowed eyes upon his guest's face.

"You are supposed to be watching, Estel. Where is he?"

"Do not fret, elven lord. I left your son with Rochellon and Glorfindel. The manling is taking a riding lesson atop the gentlest of the ponies in your stable. I was curious as to how the search went for his more permanent caretaker. You cannot blame me for that. I am 'Silvan' after all."

Elrond ignored the barb and looked to his son.

"Do you remember the instructions I gave you and Elladan?"

"Yes sir. I will go inform Elladan."

Elrohir strode by his friend, opened the door and went out, closing it behind him with a soft click. Legolas had turned his head to watch him do so. He turned back at the sound of the elven lord's voice.

"Legolas, come over to my desk. I would ask something of you as well."

. . .

Mellolaes curled up into her bed with a smile. The King had called her in that evening to tell her he would consider her sentence served at dawn tomorrow. If she was not so weary from her practice with Rhovamil, she would be too excited to sleep. In fact, if Rhovamil had been there for her entire sentence, she was sure it would not have been boring. Looking after the elfling for seventy years had taught her it was impossible to be bored in her presence, terrified certainly, but not bored.

. . .

The Silvan elf stood over the sleeping manling's bed, remembering another time. It was so long ago the manling most likely didn't remember it anymore. He hoped not. To him it was yesterday.

"I want Da! I want Ma! Ma, ma, ma, ma!"

Feet that would fit in the palm of his hand pummeled his middle. Instead of pulling away from his assaulter, his arms drew the small creature closer. He tried to lay the tangled head upon a shoulder. The head wouldn't go down. It felt like the wailing would cause his ears to bleed. He ran his hand up and down the short back.

_"Hush now youngling, hush, hush, hush."_

"I want Da! I want Ma! Ma! Maaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

He had no idea what to say to that. How could he reply to a cry so desperate, and so impossible? With his ma or da were the worst places for this little one to be. Oh where were the ones who should be holding him?!

"Legolas!"

He lifted his head. One word, two voices, so alike it was hard to know where one ended and the other began. Two identical forms approached, identical in the black blood staining their armor, identical in the grief twisting the expressions on their identical faces, even their steeds were identically lathered in foam. Finally.

And yet, another problem presented itself as they dismounted and came to him. Which member of his kin did he pass the manling to? He decided to dislodge his burden and pass him to whomever the manling himself reached towards or whoever grabbed the boy first.

He began to turn the manling towards them. Short arms wrapped around his neck. Slightly longer legs twisted around his waist. Fingers clawed into his back. Another screech seemed to rend the lining of his ears.

He sagged and looked to the darker elves for help. They also appeared to have melted in front of him. They both knelt down before him. He knelt with them. The darker elves touched the manling's shoulders, back and head. They cooed to the child. The boy turned his face to each of theirs in turn. The babe stopped screaming, sniffed, and spoke.

"Dan? Hir?"

But the manling didn't let go. The child didn't let go for many hours. Even in his sleep the babe awoke and clung when they tried to move his small form. He himself hadn't slept that night at all. When the manling finally did go to his "brothers" the shrieking began again when their friend disappeared, not stopping until the grey eyes could see the lighter haired elf. Not until the babe was placed in a crib in Imladris was he able to leave his burden. His burden . . .

_"That is the way they see you little one . . ." _

The, now larger, form in the bed didn't stir. The chest, back, and tummy just kept rising and lowering in the rhythm of breathing. Legolas smiled at the sight.

"I am glad that is no longer true of me, nor was it ever true for your family, but we must find you another who will also not see you that way. Whoever your father and ancestors are, you are not just an important burden or task. You are you. That is enough, mellon nin. Never let them convince you it is not enough. Even if you must learn to not mind bugs in your glass."

**Reviews are appreciated and often responded to. They let me know what I did right, so I can do more and what I did wrong, so I can fix it. :)**


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